Duy Ngo finally got a measure of the respect, honor and acceptance that he and others felt had long eluded the veteran cop.

Unfortunately, much of what he longed for came at his wake this weekend and his funeral Monday. As my wife constantly reminds me, you have to show love, compassion and support for people when they are alive; once they are gone, it’s too late.

“Yes, I agree that in a sense, part of him died seven years ago,” his brother-in-law, Michael Soto, told me a few days ago. “And yes, I believe that in a way he died in the line of duty. But I also believe that he was let down by many in his department when he needed them the most. And that’s a damn shame.”

Ngo was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound June 7 at his Mendota Heights home. He is survived by his wife of 13 years, Mary, and their daughter, Isabella, 8.

Close to 200 people — including a handful of Army Reserve buddies, scores of men and women in blue and the 12-member Minneapolis police honor guard that escorted his casket to the front of the Cathedral of St. Paul — paid final respects at the service.

Ngo, 37, was shot six times in 2003 by a fellow cop who mistook him for an armed suspect. The incident took place while Ngo was working undercover and assigned to the now-defunct Metro Gang Strike Force. He underwent dozens of surgeries and was rarely pain free after the shooting.

The encounter took place moments after Ngo had been shot during a confrontation with a robbery suspect and radioed for assistance. But rumors quickly swirled through the police department that Ngo had shot himself to avoid military duty. An Army reservist for 15 years, Ngo was scheduled to deploy to Iraq the following day.

Perhaps that is why only one cop reportedly showed up at a fundraiser after the shooting. Perhaps that is why not too many showed up at Sunday’s wake. Gossip has a way of doing more damage than bullets. It promotes uncertainty or renders impotent the good intentions of even the most reasonable among us.

That may have indelibly hurt Ngo more than the slugs that pierced his body.

He sued the department and the city over the shooting. A $4.5 million settlement in 2007 did not ease the pain.

“I frankly thought (the lack of uniform police presence) was pathetic,” said a retired cop and family friend of Ngo’s who attended the wake.

Others would have left the job. In his shoes, I would have. But Officer Ngo would not let go. Not that easy. Unable to continue police investigative or undercover work, he decided to return to duty, even if it was part time.

“He could have (retired) or gone out on medical, but he wanted to come back and always came to work,” said his commanding officer, Lt. Chris Hildreth.

Now, the service was interesting, because it was not that long ago that the Catholic Church considered suicide a mortal sin. You killed yourself, and you spent eternity in hell. No ifs, ands or buts.

In his eulogy, the Rev. Kenneth O’Hotto talked about Ngo’s devotion to police work since youth and that he “lived and breathed being a police officer.”

O’Hotto, a police chaplain as well as the pastor of St. Michael’s Church in West St. Paul, noted the effects of the 2003 shooting that manifested themselves in “personal and professional challenges,” which he said became too heavy for Ngo to bear.

He cited severe depression and post-traumatic stress disorder as major contributors to Ngo’s deadly decision, as well as too many other police officers, both active and retired, who have gone that lethal route. In fact, as O’Hotto noted in his remarks from the altar of this most majestic of churches, the suicide rate for cops is roughly twice that of the general population.

“Severe depression — it can mess them up; it can mess anybody up,” O’Hotto told the gathering. “Depression kills. Depression leads to hopelessness, a sense that someone or something else has control over your life.

Minneapolis Mayor R.T. Rybak and Police Chief Tim Dolan were among the dignitaries who showed up at the service.

So did Ron Ryan Sr., the longtime St. Paul cop and embattled former head of the disbanded gang strike force. Ryan, whose police officer son was fatally shot in 1994, sat many rows behind the Minneapolis cop contingent.

But two other attendees struck a compelling chord with me. One was Hildreth, Ngo’s immediate boss for the past few years. On his own and without official departmental approval, Hildreth researched the criteria for bestowing the law enforcement version of the military Purple Heart.

There is one. It is an earned honor. It has, to Hildreth’s knowledge, never been given to a cop in Minnesota.

Although the criteria vary among police agencies, the medal, which looks strikingly similar to the military one, is awarded to a law enforcement officer who is wounded or killed as the result of a confrontation with a criminal and not by accidental death or injury.

Hildreth presented the medal to Ngo’s widow Sunday at the wake.

“I believe that this is something that we should do,” he said before Monday’s service.

And then there was Mike Blood and his wife, Cheri. Blood knows much about the physical and mental pain Ngo must have endured. The retired Edina cop was shot four times and left for dead by a heavily armed bank robber in November 2000.

Blood survived, though he continues to struggle with serious physical ailments from that encounter. Blood, in contrast to Ngo, received an outpouring of local and national support and well-wishers. Many donated blood when his life hung in the balance.

Other than Ngo’s relatives, no one inside that church Monday could relate more to Duy Ngo than Mike Blood.

But instead of the front-and-center row, Blood chose to sit in a pew in the back, with his wife of more than 35 years, Cheri, a breast cancer survivor, at his side.

After the service, I asked Blood what compelled him to show up. I knew the answer already.

“I care about him,” Blood said. “I know what it’s like to be near death, and I know what it’s like to struggle daily with nagging injuries and everything else,” he told me as his wife stood beside him.

“I received much support,” Blood added. “Ngo didn’t. It’s just a sad thing.”

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